


does it go away if you pretend it's just a dream?

by butterflyknifle



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-05 23:33:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4199256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflyknifle/pseuds/butterflyknifle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a short story about moving on.</p>
<p>excerpt:</p>
<p>"Something in you aches for the Mother of Invention, for the community that felt like home for a little while. Before everything - CT defected, York lost an eye and Maine his voice."</p>
            </blockquote>





	does it go away if you pretend it's just a dream?

**Author's Note:**

> Repeated mention of deceased characters.
> 
> [my tumblr](http://agentyxrk.tumblr.com)

In dreams, it's more graceful than this. In dreams, there are ghosts that dance, smoke on the water and shadowy figures of the people you've left behind.

In life, it goes like this: you rise from a fitful sleep, you close your eyes and allow one more brief moment with these shadows of yours, and then you open your eyes, and you move the fuck on.

You are a soldier. You have a team to fight for, and you cannot let yourself become broken like Epsilon made you.

You, Agent Washington, force yourself to let go.

You look at it like this. Tucker is mouthy and loud and disrespectful. But he's good, Agent Washington, he's better than you. And it's terrible, because he reminds you of York.

You would rather not be reminded of York. You know he's dead. You were the Recovery sent for his armor. Delta had been long gone, though, just like York. You resent Texas, a little, for that, but she's gone too.

Something in you aches for the Mother of Invention, for the community that felt like home for a little while. Before everything - CT defected, York lost an eye and Maine his voice. Before any of that you - the Project, how good did it feel to be a part of something? You were a team. A family.

You, Wash, were you doomed to fail?

Wash. Tucker calls you Wash, and that is painful because your team called you Wash. Before.

You remember York, standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the fluorescent hallway lights, begging silently to come in.

"Yeah," you'd said, shifting over in your bed, rearranging blankets. "Get comfy."

Maybe, just maybe, this can be your moving on. Clear out the soured memories, replace them with the good. Someday when you hear your name you won't cringe behind your helmet. No, you'll smile, because Wash will remind you of the Reds and the Blues of Blood Gulch, not the freelancers who tore each other apart, left two survivors behind instead.

Someday, maybe. For now, you smile weakly and try not to think about Wyoming and his jokes, don't, Agent Washington, don't think about Connie or Wyoming or South or Florida, and definitely don't think about Maine and York and North.

They are gone, Washington, only you and Carolina are left. The last of your team, the best of the best.

Do not think about them. They will not come back to you. Instead, replace memories of them with this rag tag crew you've created, and remember, Agent, it doesn't have to end the same way.

Make it different, this time.

"Wash?" Tucker stands now in the doorway, silhouetted by the bright light in the hall. "You coming?"

"Yeah," you say, shifting the blankets until you are free, your feet touch the ground. "Just give me a minute."

Not quite the same, but perhaps it's better off that way. You don't think you’d want to forget anyway.


End file.
